


Road Trip

by storiesfortravellers



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Beaches, Camping, Cities, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Food, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 11:32:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1145469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesfortravellers/pseuds/storiesfortravellers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil’s last request is for Natasha and Clint to take a vacation together. They end up on a road trip around the United States.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Road Trip

**Author's Note:**

  * For [igrockspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Six Cities That Are Not Budapest](https://archiveofourown.org/works/467182) by [igrockspock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/igrockspock/pseuds/igrockspock). 



> For Avengers Remix. Thank you to igrockspock for writing such wonderful fic that made it easy to be inspired! Hope you like it :)

“How long?” Natasha asked.

“Phil’s letter said to use up at least half our vacation time. And since neither of us has ever taken a vacation, that means two months,” Clint answered.

“We took time off after Budapest,” she pointed out.

“They don’t count medical leave for being shot as vacation time.”

Natasha snorted as if she felt such distinctions were a form of coddling. “You know, you didn’t always follow his orders.” 

“That’s why he’s the only one who could deal with me.”

“Truer words,” she said with a smile. “But why are you following this one?”

“A request made by the dead is not the same as an order,” Clint said. 

She nodded. “What exactly do people do on vacations, anyway?” she asked.

“I don’t know. They sit on the beach to get tan. Look at the water.”

“They sit there and do nothing? I find that hard to believe.”

“They sit on a beach and get extremely drunk on fruity cocktails.”

“That’s more sensible. But it doesn’t sound like something I’d do for two months.” 

“Some people go on cruises.”

“It’s hurricane season. Also, I don’t want to be trapped on a boat with a bunch of normal people.”

“I definitely hear that. Um, some people take road trips,” Clint said.

“Road trips where?”

“You just get in the car and go where you feel like going. And then when you feel like moving on, you pick the next place you want to go. We take turns driving, eat crap food from gas stations. That kind of thing.” Barney, when they were kids, had always talked about how they would take a road trip when they were old enough. Most of his knowledge of normal life came from SHIELD training or things that Barney had picked up from other kids and told Clint about. (Natasha and Coulson had been the only ones who knew that there was a time when Barney was a good brother; now it was just her.)

“All right,” Natasha said, “But until I get the hang of vacationing, it will be your responsibility to choose our destinations.”

Leave it to Natasha to refuse to direct the vacation until she knew she could do it perfectly. “Um… how about… Wisconsin?”

Natasha paused. “We’re not supposed to make contact with Phil’s family.”

“Right. But we could go for the cheese. And for the Milwaukee art museum. And the Lake Michigan coastline.” He’d done a job in Milwaukee once – he knew his stuff.

She stared at him, clearly not buying it. 

“Okay,” Clint said. “Uh…. Hiking in the Rockies?” She’d be better at hiking than Clint was, and Clint figured if nothing else, she’d like that.

She nodded. “I’ll make a list of supplies we need to purchase.” 

“Great,” he said, wondering if there would be any unconventional weapons on the list alongside the hiking boots and grappling hooks. But then he realized probably not; grappling hooks and hiking boots could also be used as weapons, and Natasha was nothing if not efficient.

\--

Clint had forgotten how early Natasha liked to get up. 

He groaned every time Natasha said, “Barton,” to wake him up at 3 in the morning so that they could gain some more altitude to watch the sun rise.

Though he had to admit… the sunrises _were_ pretty spectacular.

They had to share a tent, of course; it was cold enough that they needed to huddle for warmth, and it’s not like either of them would take the security risk of a space heater lighting up their tent. Sometimes, lying next to Natasha, feeling her breath on him, steady as she slept, Clint wondered why Coulson had wanted them to vacation together. If he had wanted to remind them that even though he was gone, they weren’t completely alone. Or if Coulson had wanted the two of them to be more to each other than what they were.

They spent three weeks in the Rockies, across three states. They did not end up using the grappling hook as a weapon. But Natasha did end up using her canteen to break someone’s nose; he was a poacher who wasn’t happy about being discovered, and had threatened them, and the fight was over in two seconds.

\--

They went to New Orleans next. Clint was glad it was nowhere near Mardi Gras and so the city lacked hordes of drunken revelers vomiting and throwing beads. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if someone told Natasha to lift her shirt up in exchange for plastic jewelry.

They decided to do the cliché thing and hit the jazz clubs. It was well worth it. At one joint, there was a singer with a sultry voice and a tight black dress, and it made Clint wonder if Natasha knew how to sing. He also wondered how he could not know this about her. He wanted to ask, but when he looked over at her, she seemed to be genuinely enjoying the performance, and he didn’t want to ruin the moment by asking questions about her past (Clint knew that any question was potentially a question about her past).

While they were there, Natasha also discovered an obsession with gumbo, and they spent the week trying to find the best gumbo in the city. They reached their pinnacle when Natasha tricked a fine dining restaurant owner into admitting that the best gumbo he had ever eaten had cost $4 at a hole in the wall takeout place. They went there and tasted it, savoring its savory heat, its layers of spices and flavors.

When they were done with the perfect gumbo, Natasha asked where he wanted to go next.

\--

They went to Texas next. They went to one of those dude ranches for tourists, but all the bulls were scared of Natasha, and Clint was way too good at lassoing, so they decided to leave before anyone grew (more) suspicious. 

They went to Austin for the food and music. They liked it, but not quite as much as New Orleans. 

They also visited the Alamo. 

“It’s a very Russian story,” Natasha observed.

“Because the heroes die tragically?” Clint asked.

“And because of the expansionist rhetoric,” she said.

“Right.”

\--

They took a ten hour detour to drive by the house where Clint was raised.

When they got there, Clint realized that someone else was living there now. There were kids playing in the front yard. Their clothes looked old, like hand-me-downs, but clean enough. 

Clint found himself wondering if the father was good to his kids, and if not, whether he might be able to punch the guy in the face.

“It’s a shithole,” Clint said, as they sat in the car parked across the street from the house.

He always felt strange talking about his past with Natasha. Because as crap as his childhood was, what could really compete with the Red Room? 

“Do you want to go in?” she asked him.

“No,” he said. He really didn’t. “I’m sorry for making you come here. Pointless.”

“I’m glad I got to see it,” she said, and he wasn’t sure what she meant. 

He started the car and drove away.

“For future reference,” Natasha said with a half-smile, “We’re never visiting the place I grew up.”

“No shit,” Clint said, letting out a breath that was almost a laugh.

 

\--

For the next destination, Clint chose Maine, mostly because he knew that Natasha had never been there. They ate lobster cooked in metal buckets on the side of the road and visited lighthouses. Clint felt very relaxed perching at the top of a lighthouse, and Natasha, when she saw him eyeing the climb up, would always distract the tour guide so he could have his fun.

They also went down to Portland and had a different version of fancy mashed potatoes at every gastropub in town. Goat cheese mashed potatoes, lobster mashed potatoes (of course), truffled mashed potatoes, bacon-Parmesan-chive mashed potatoes (Clint’s favorite, because bacon), taramasalata mashed potatoes, brie-and-caramelized-onion mashed potatoes, mashed potatoes with lamb and nutmeg, chorizo-spinach mashed potatoes. At each place, Natasha ordered a vodka, straight up, and Clint made a habit of saying, “Potato and vodka. Such a stereotype.”

They went back north after that so they could take a whale watching trip. Natasha was skeptical, but when they managed to get right up close to a whale, when a flipper splashed Natasha with a cascade of icy water, he saw a grin on her face that he wasn’t sure he had seen before.

When they got back, they sat on the beach for a while. The water and sky were all a dingy gray, and it smelled like dead fish.

“I can see why people look at the ocean,” Natasha said, finally. She looked content (for her, anyway). 

Clint smiled. He hoped that someday, they would come back to Maine.

\--

“We probably have time for one more place,” Clint said. “Will you choose the last one?”

Natasha looked like she was taking the responsibility very seriously, and Clint was about to suggest Vegas or DisneyWorld when she finally answered.

“We’ll go to Wisconsin,” she said.

“But--”

“For the cheese,” she added. 

He nodded. 

After they crossed into Wisconsin, Clint drove directly to the suburb where Coulson’s sister lived; he didn’t need to look up the address, since he had memorized it long before.

When they got there, Coulson’s sister Jennifer welcomed them in with open arms. Natasha seemed uncomfortable at first, probably because it wasn’t clear if she should act like she was on a mission or act like herself. So Clint squeezed her hand when Jennifer went to get them iced tea, and she smiled at him. 

They made polite conversation until Jennifer started crying. At which point, Clint patted her back and Natasha sat there looking uncertain about what to do (she had apparently decided that for Coulson’s sister, she wouldn’t pretend to be on a mission).

Jennifer recovered then, and showed them pictures of Coulson when he was a kid. Without having to ask, she offered to give them one each. Natasha chose one of five year old Coulson dressed in Captain America pajamas. Clint raised an eyebrow; it wasn’t like her to go for cute, but she gave him a dirty look and he didn’t say anything. Clint chose one of Coulson in his thirties, smiling at somebody else’s wedding.

Eventually, Jennifer thanked them for coming and told them what a pleasure it was to meet Phil’s friends. Before they got up, though, Natasha elbowed Clint in the side.

Clint swallowed. He looked at Natasha and shook his head. He had planned to tell Coulson’s sister something, anything, to let her know how amazing Phil was. But how do you tell someone that their loved one was stabbed by an alien? That Phil had lied to her about his job for his entire adult life?

Natasha stared at him. Then she frowned. “You need to say it,” she said, not seeming to care that Jennifer could hear. “For your own sake.”

“Say what?” Jennifer asked.

Clint paused, then said, voice breaking, “I, uh, just wanted you to know that Phil died a hero. And he probably saved the world, literally. I thought you had a right to know.”

Jennifer gave him a sad smile. “Sweetie. I’m not an idiot. And I could always tell when Phil lied to me. But it means everything that you care enough about him to tell me that. And I promise to never tell anyone that you told me.” 

Natasha nodded her thanks, and they headed out the door, allowing Jennifer to give them each a hug good-bye. 

They got in the car and Natasha started the engine. A few minutes out, Clint asked, “Why did you let me do that?”

Natasha hesitated. “I think if Coulson were here, he would have let you. Break the rules.”

Clint thought for a moment. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” He looked down at the photo of Coulson, still in his hands.

“I think maybe that’s why he made us take a vacation,” she said, staring at the road ahead.

“So we’d be more like him?” Clint said with a smile.

“So we’d know that it’s our job now. To give each other what we need.” She still wasn’t looking at him.

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

They were silent for a long time.

Finally, Clint said, “Are you sure we can’t stop to buy you one of those cheese hats?”

“Shut up, Clint.”


End file.
